You must remember at the period of time I’m recounting here, I am still uncomfortable and mostly just plain scared of whatever ability it is that I have here. That kept in mind, I’ll tell you a little more about the way that I experience New Orleans.
It’s pretty common knowledge that New Orleans is known for being a mystical and extremely haunted place. The energy there is like no where else I’ve ever been.
On another trip there, we stayed at the Place D’Armes hotel. Lovely and affordable place where would could walk around the corner to Bourbon Street and see Jackson Square from our balcony (or was it a gallery…?). Perfect location. We got off an exhausting air travel experience tired, hungry and ready to shower, but the universe had other plans for us. At first I was angry, but soon saw the purpose. We had reserved a room on the second floor or the three story hotel, but were told our room was unavailable and they were preparing us a room on the first floor. They held our luggage and recommended we walk around and get something to eat in the mean time. I was not thrilled about wandering aimlessly tired and smelly from travel, but we had to do what we had to do. An hour or so later, we were once again apologized to, promised a different room now on the third floor, and turned away for another hour or two while our room was being prepared. They were very pleasant and monetarily made it up to us, but I was tired and wanted a shower. We wandered a bit down the halls of the first floor while waiting. I remember telling him that something tragic had happened in this building. The energy was sad and thick. I was hoping the entire building was not this way! Finally, we did get our room on the third floor. We found it odd, though, that the elevator doors would open at the second floor every time we went up or down. At least, every time I was on board it did. Later on, we found out I was the necessary component for the elevator doors to open at the second floor spontaneously. There was never anyone there waiting to get on. It was pretty confounding. Until….(drumroll, please) yes, again, a Haunted History Tour. We learned that our hotel was a site of a large fire (which in New Orleans, seems like every building was the site of The Great Fire). The building used to be a boarding school for boys and they all slept on the second floor. They say that when a sensitive person is on the elevator, the doors will open at the second floor as they are still trying to escape the inferno. Ugh!
I am grateful that I did not have to lodge on the first, and especially not the second floor of the hotel. The third floor was relatively calm and in retrospect, the hassle was worth what I didn’t have to endure on either of the other floors for a week long stay.
On another night of walking the city streets, we passed an alley. Not uncommon. Ton of them there in between the buildings. But this one in particular made me almost cross the street to avoid it. I could not believe the intensity that this one area held and transferred to me. It was nauseating and my heart was racing. I felt like I needed to run away, and fast. But logically, there was no reason to run or even cross the street. So trying to avoid the crazy, I simply moved as far away from the alley as I could, and still remain on the sidewalk, as we walked past it. And on another Tour, we were headed toward the same alley. Oh, no. Here we go. We found out that this particular alley was used to store the new shipments of slaves brought in to the harbor. This was not a comfy storage, though. They were shackled to large iron rings and stacked on top of each other several stories high. They were left there, dead or alive, for days, even weeks. I cannot even imagine what that must have been like, but I did feel the residual energy and it was horrendous.
I would love to go back to New Orleans in the frame of mind I’m in now. With my level of acceptance, willingness and fearlessness in hand. It could be an entirely different experience. One thing I’m certain of though, is that is will still feel like home. 
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